


All Change

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Tin Man (2007)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2008-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:45:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1627421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things change. And, sometimes, they change for the better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Change

**Author's Note:**

> Written for alamo_girl80

 

 

"Can't we just keep it simple?" says DG, plaintively, but everyone insists. The O.Z. needs to rally, needs something to focus on. The rebuilding efforts are ongoing but the task is harder than anyone imagined. The witch laid waste to whatever she could, whatever she found, to anything that was productive or beautiful, and repairing the damage is going to take time.

"We need to celebrate," says her mother. "The people need to celebrate."

"I get that," says DG, "but why do they have to celebrate _me_?"

Her mother looks at her, lavender eyes firm. She's the kindest, gentlest person you could ever meet but sometimes DG forgets that her mother has the soul, the strength of a queen. "You know why," she says.

And DG doesn't argue because, yes, she knows why. She might not like it, but she knows.

Which is why she's currently being fussed over by three different ladies-in-waiting, her hair being piled on top of her head, her cheeks rouged, her mouth painted a tasteful shade of pink. Her dress is yellow, and even DG has to admit it's beautiful, a fairy tale concoction of hoops and flares and tiny beaded flowers that almost look good enough to eat.

Maybe this isn't so bad after all, she thinks, until her chief lady-in-waiting says, "Brace yourself, my dear."

"Huh?" says DG, inwardly rolling her eyes at the look they all give her. Not very princess-like, yeah, she gets it. Whatever.

"Inhale," the woman says, grabbing the strings at the back of DG's dress and _holy cow_ , it's like being punched in the stomach, it's as if every last breath of air is being forcibly strangled from her lungs.

"I... don't... need... the... corset," DG manages to stammer out between compressions, feeling faint as two ladies tie the bindings fast and tight. 

"Nonsense, Princess," they say to her. "See how beautiful you are," they say.

DG scowls at the mirror, barely even recognising herself. She turns from side to side, taking tiny, careful breaths. The silhouette is kind of spectacular, she'll give them that. "If I pass out during the ceremony, I'm blaming you," she says, in her best, most imperious voice. They twitter and curtsy and DG feels oddly satisfied. Perhaps this royal thing has its advantages, she thinks. Or perhaps she's just light-headed from the lack of oxygen. It's difficult to tell.

There's a knock at the door. Her bodyguard, headed, of course, by Cain, are ready to escort her to the great hall, so she tiptoes out; small, measured steps in her dainty shoes. 

Afterwards, once the day is over, she thinks that, perhaps, all the pain, all the discomfort, the breathlessness, was worth it. Just to see the look on Cain's face when he first lays eyes on her, just to see the bright red flush that creeps across his cheeks, the way in which he is visibly taken aback. He bows to her, deep and formal. "Your highness," he says, and DG smiles at him, tilting her head and raising her chin in way that, if she wasn't her plain, practical self underneath all this frippery, that, if she wasn't the type of person who didn't do that type of thing, could perhaps be described as flirtatious. Coquettish. 

She's not feeling herself, she thinks. That's all.

_You can't treat him as an equal, says her mother. Things are different now._

He saved my life, says DG. A lot. Over and over.

He's a subordinate, says her mother.

He's the best person I know, says DG.

That doesn't matter, says the queen.

"You wanted to see me, Princess?" says Cain. He has to remind himself, every time, to call her that. To him, she's still DG, determined and graceless and stubborn as mud, marching along the old road like an unstoppable force. Not this porcelain, perfumed creature in silks and jewels. She's so beautiful, he thinks, but she's not happy, not herself, he can tell. Things change, he thinks. Just got to make the best of it. 

She's sitting, staring out the window, the orange-yellow glow of the suns lighting up the room like a flame. She doesn't say anything for a long moment but then turns to face him.

"My mother says you can't be part of my bodyguard anymore," she says, and he can see she's been crying. The urge to protect her, to take her in his arms, keep her safe, is almost overwhelming but he gathers himself, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Oh," he says, because it's all he can trust himself to say.

"Everything's wrong," she says, and he's struck by how _young_ she looks, how fragile. Broken little girl and all he wants to do is put the pieces back together, tell her she'll be okay, that everything will be all right. "I saved the O.Z. and now I have to be a princess and I can't be myself and I want to do the right thing, I do, but I'm so miserable." She gasps, a strangled sob that pierces his heart. "I don't know what to do," she says, tears welling up once more.

"Hey now," Cain says, sitting down next to her, awkwardly patting her back. "Hey now." Her shoulder blades jerk and heave under his hand, like the wings of a baby bird.

"I've given up so much, Cain," she says, huge blue eyes staring up at him like oceans, and even as he recognises the cliche, he can feel himself drowning, falling. "I can't give you up as well." She reaches over and grabs his hand, holding it in both of her own, like something precious. Her grip is tremulous, her palms faintly moist, and Cain takes a deep, deep breath.

"I don't have to be your bodyguard, DG," he says, willing his voice steady.

"But..." she says, her small fingers plucking anxiously at his own thick, stubby ones.

"I can be your friend," Cain says, softly, staring down, not daring to look at her.

"But my mother says..."

"DG," he says. "You've got responsibilities now, and there's no getting around that. But," he squeezes her hand, and regards her, seriously, "you're still DG. I know you can find a way to be yourself as well as be a princess."

"That's true," she says, jumping as if startled, in that way she has when something strikes her, when an idea occurs. "I can."

"You can," Cain says, smiling.

"I can," she says, wondering. "Friends, huh?" She smiles, back at him, bouncing his hand up and down in hers a few quick, excited beats against the air.

"Friends," he says, laughing at her enthusiasm. She can spin on a dime, this one, with her moods. Quixotic, is the word, he thinks, flighty as a kitten, and Cain never was one to enjoy unpredictability but, then, as recent events have proven, things can change. Anything can happen, Cain thinks. Anything at all. 

"Friends." DG nods, firmly. "I'd like that," she says. 

 


End file.
